Vendetta in Death (In Death 49)

She found the address, a slim duplex on the edges of NoHo. Someone had painted the front entrance door a deep blue. On the small pad up the short steps from the sidewalk sat a boldly striped pot where something poked up green through the soil.

Good security, Eve noted as she rang the bell. A woman’s voice—not a comp—answered, “How can I help you?”

“Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody, NYPSD. We need to speak with Natalia Zula.”

She must have come on the run, as the door swung open before Eve finished, and the woman who answered breathed fast. “Kendra.”

“Is fine as far as we know. We’re here about another matter.”

“Oh God.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “My daughter, Kendra, stayed over with a friend last night. I was afraid— Sorry. Can I see your identification?”

Eve pulled out her badge, studied the woman as the woman studied the badge.

Tall, well built, but that ebony skin would be hard to disguise, and the unsub wasn’t—according to the wits—black. She had diamond-edged cheekbones, huge dark eyes, and black hair that spilled to her shoulders in dozens of thin braids.

She wore a simple, well-cut navy suit, sensible shoes, and a crisp white shirt.

“Thank you. Please come in. Perhaps we should go into my office.”

“Fine.”

She had the faintest accent, musical, precise, and led the way down the hallway into a room with a small desk, a couple of good-size chairs in soft gray, a sofa in navy. The art on the walls depicted flowers in meadows, quiet forests, winding rivers.

“Please sit. May I offer you tea?”

“We’re good, thanks.”

Natalia sat behind the desk, folded her hands on its surface. “How may I help?”

“You run a support group, Women For Women.”

“I do, but this is a confidential matter. Any who attend are pr

omised that confidence.”

“Two men have been murdered, Ms. Zula. Your group connects them.”

She sat back abruptly, as if punched. “But no. We have no men in the group. It’s only for women.”

“A woman killed them.”

“Ah.” She closed her eyes a moment. “I can assure you, our group promotes support, understanding, steps toward peace, recovery, stability. We do not promote or sanction violence.”

“That may be, but there’s a connection. Both men were involved with women who attended your group. The women attended your group because of experiences with these men.”

Worry clouded those dark eyes now. “I see. But surely these men were connected in other ways to have been killed together.”

“Not together. Nigel McEnroy was murdered night before last.”

“I heard this. I don’t know the name, but I heard of his murder.”

“You’ll also hear Thaddeus Pettigrew was murdered, the same method, last night.”

“I— This is terrible, but I don’t understand. You’re saying these men didn’t know each other?”

“Not that we can ascertain. Two women who worked in McEnroy’s office have given either me or my partner statements attesting to the fact that he drugged and raped them. They both attended your group. Pettigrew’s ex-wife, whom he left for another woman and, according to her statement, cheated her financially as well, attended your group.”

“But …” She lifted a hand, pressed it to the base of her throat. “You cannot believe these women somehow worked together to kill.”